Chapter 2
LARK
“Um. Hi?” I squeak and offer a small wave.
I’m hardwired to be polite no matter the circumstances. That apparently includes awkwardly waving to the armed, tatted-up guys who are probably going to murder me and burn down the dealership to hide it.
Out of all the ways I thought I’d meet my untimely end, this honestly isn’t the worst. So there’s that, I guess.
Look at me looking on the bright side of the situation. Charlie would be so proud. Too bad she’ll never know, since I’ll be dead and all that jazz.
“Who are you?” the tallest one rumbles. His deep voice is rough, like he doesn’t speak often.
“Lark,” I answer reflexively. Needing to do something with my hands, I shove a strand of chestnut hair that escaped one of my twin French braids behind my ear. “Who are you?”
His golden eyes assess me for a long moment, running up and down my frame. When he does it, I don’t feel the need to scrub every inch of my skin clean like I did with Dave. Instead, I just feel self-conscious, knowing my slim hips and small boobs aren’t much to look at.
The tall one’s face remains blank, not giving me any insight into what he’s thinking. “Azrael.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “That’s your name?” He dips his chin slightly in affirmation. “That’s a hardcore name. What, are the two of you named Lucifer and Satan?”
You’d think, after all these years, I’d learn not to blurt out my thoughts when I’m startled or flustered. But I haven’t. Clearly.
I shrink back as I realize how rude that question sounded, and all three of them notice it. My cheeks warm at the involuntary show of emotion.
You’re just doing it for attention. It’s disgusting how you’re throwing yourself at these men. It’s laughable you think they’d even want someone like you.
Gritting my teeth, I push her voice out of my head and blank my face. I would’ve thought the thousand miles between us was enough to break free of both of them, but I guess not.
The brunet one chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. “Nope, although Lucifer would be a cool name. I’m Halston, but you can call me Hal.” He points to the man next to him. “That’s Rook.”
My lips tip up slightly at Rook’s name. It’s rare that I meet other people with a bird name, but I like it.
An automatic “nice to meet you” gets lodged in my throat as I figure out why they probably gave me their names.
“Ah, yeah, I guess if you’re going to kill me, it doesn’t matter if I know your names,” I mumble to myself.
“What?” Hal’s eyebrows are almost to his hairline as he exchanges a confused glance with Rook.
Azrael continues to silently watch me, his large frame unmoving as he does so.
He seems awfully surprised I know exactly how this is going to go. I’ve seen this sort of thing play out too many times to count at this point. “You’re planning to murder the two salesmen, kill me since I’m a witness, and torch the place, right?”
“Uh, no. That wasn’t in our plans for the night.” Rook’s smooth, deep timbre curls around me and draws me in like a siren’s song. He gray eyes seem to stare into my soul as he watches me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.
“Really?” Now it’s my turn to be confused. My nose scrunches as I try to figure out what’s going on. “What’s with the guns, abundance of tattoos, and gangster suits, then?”
Hal glances as his, Rook’s, and Azrael’s black suits and back to me before huffing. “We aren’t wearing gangster suits.”
“I mean, you kind of are. They’re expensive and well-tailored.
” I can easily tell the difference between a very pricey and custom-fitted suit like theirs and a bargain bin, off-the-rack suit like the one Dave is wearing.
“Combined with the tattoos, shoulder holsters, and silencers, your whole outfit screams mafia.”
If they had fewer visible tattoos and no guns, they could pass as old money bad boys who are going through their rebellious phase before taking over daddy’s company. Combined with Hal threatening Dave, though, I’m pretty sure they’re some sort of organized crime.
Before Hal can respond, Azrael cuts in. “If you’re so certain we’re here to kill you, why aren’t you running?”
I shrug. “Is there a point to running?” Azrael silently stares at me for what feels like an eternity.
Eventually, he gives me a small shake of his head.
“I didn’t think so. By the time I put everything together, you guys had already noticed me.
So, I’m just going to chill out here and hopefully get to watch you murder Dave before me. ”
Dave dying a painful death would almost make this shitty situation worth it.
In the first show of emotion from him this entire conversation, Azrael twists his mouth into a sneer, and he narrows his gaze on me. “So you’re just giving up without a fight?”
“I never said that. I just said I wasn’t running.” The power that lives behind my breastbone tries to creep up and turn my eyes the eerie neon-green of my shifter side. I manage to squash it down because I don’t need to clue them in on how weird I am.
A normal shifter’s eyes turn an amber color when they shift or have strong emotions that awaken their primal side. Unlike everyone else, my eyes flare a neon green, which gave the kids I grew up with even more ammunition to make my life hell.
All shifters get their animals at eighteen, but different types of shifters have different rituals to bring the animals forth. Wolves use a wolfsbane potion, bears use an oleander brew, and white tigers, like my old streak, rely on magic-infused tiger lilies to unlock shifting.
Even if I wanted to just roll over and die without a fight, my innate magic wouldn’t let me.
I know I’m more powerful than the average shifter, but I have no idea what these guys are or how I’d stack up in a fight. I guess I’m about to find out.
Hal grins at my words, Rook raises a blond brow, and Azrael continues to stare me down with his liquid gold gaze.
Azrael seems to come to some decision as he locks eyes with me. “No, we won’t be killing you tonight, little bird.”
I’m not sure if he meant that to be reassuring, but the “tonight” part doesn’t really fill me with confidence.
Well, if they want to try to kill me, then they will. There’s not a whole lot I can do about it. I might as well continue bike shopping while I’m here.
“If killing me isn’t on tonight’s bingo card, is it cool if I keep shopping for my first bike? I’d like to find one before they close.”
I internally cringe at asking for permission. I’m a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need permission for anything. But I’m also a pathological people pleaser, which always seems to win out.
After Azrael dips his chin in acknowledgement, I very ungracefully get off the bike I’ve been straddling this whole time. Making my way over to a black bike with green stripes, I inspect it for a moment as I hear three sets of footsteps go out the back of the dealership.
Another set of footsteps sound behind me.
I side-eye Hal as he comes up beside me. “You gonna try to tell me I should just be a passenger or ride a bicycle instead? Because, if so, save it.”
I’m at my limit of guys telling me what a woman can and can’t do today. And every day, honestly.
Hal’s eyebrows jump up in surprise. “No, I wasn’t gonna tell you that. Who the fuck said that to you? Because that’s bullshit.”
A small smile tips the corners of my mouth at how offended he is. “Dave did. Along with insinuating I would need a man to pay for my bike for me.”
I know the salesman doesn’t know how hard I’ve worked these past six months to be entirely self-sufficient. But his jab that I need someone else to provide for me hit a particularly sore spot.
“What the fuck? That’s not even remotely okay. Even if we didn’t have an existing problem with the management of this dealership, we sure as hell would now.” Hal rakes a hand through his hair agitatedly.
“Oh. What were you coming over to say, then?”
“The Cbr300R’s thumper engine, while charming as hell, is kinda underpowered for its class.” Hal turns to face me and gives me a small but genuine smile. “You could do better for a first bike.”
I pivot to face him and have to crane my neck back to make eye contact with him this close. He has to be at least six-foot-four. His perfectly fitted suit does little to disguise his broad shoulders, trim waist, and muscular chest.
Realizing I’ve been staring at his built frame for way too long, I guiltily meet his amused gaze. Flustered, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”
I wince, knowing better than to blurt things without thinking it through.
Hal doesn’t rage or yell like I’m used to. Instead, he snorts. “You didn’t, but I’m generous like that, wild girl.”
A startled laugh makes its way out of my mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever been described as wild in my entire life.” Goody Two-shoes, try-hard, and teacher’s pet are more like it. Wild, not so much.
Wren was always the wild one. She never gave a fuck what anyone thought about her choices, at least not before she married.
At thoughts of Wren’s husband, a familiar anger courses through me, along with a grief so deep I feel like I’m drowning in it most days.
But I can’t drown in it. I owe it to Wren to figure out some way to live the life she always wanted for me.
Of all the places that are appropriate for a breakdown, a motorcycle dealership currently overrun by mobsters isn’t one of them. Sucking in a fortifying breath, I try to shove down everything I feel and smooth out my expression.
Before Hal can ask about the emotions that were flitting across my face, I turn around and head for a big neon-green bike.
Hal follows closely behind and comes to a stop next to me. “You probably don’t want to start on that one. It’s a race replica liter bike. It has a lot of power for a beginner.”